Zachary Peters

It’s the mid-1990s or it could be the early 2000’s, and it is a Sunday, a NASCAR Sunday. Sundays were great, not just because of NASCAR, but because of what NASCAR racing meant to everything around it on a Sunday. Sundays were fun then, and now as I think about them 25 or so years later, they are even more fun. In the morning, there is a mad rush at home, the pre-race garage, if you will indulge the expression. My mother is trying to get two kids ready for church, and my dad is trying to help. As a pastor with a kid of my own now, I realize what a heroic and mostly successful feat this was every week.  

Church is fun, but I don’t want to go to Sunday school, which happened when you arrived early. My brother doesn’t mind. He is busy picking other children up off the ground, primarily girls he has a crush on. One Sunday, I literally had to be dragged into the Sunday school room kicking and screaming. I am sure somewhere there are claw marks in the church hallway as proof. Eventually, I do go to Sunday school, I do enjoy the flannel graphs and the songs with fun hand motions. I am sure I still know a few of the songs.

Then there is kid’s church, and my friends show up. There are songs, games, puppets, and scripture stories, and I like it all. My brother and friend fall asleep beside me and receive quiet seat prizes. These are gifts given to very attentive and quiet children, which, even then, I realized was easy to do if you were asleep.

Eventually, big church ends, and the parents come and get the kids. Most of the time this is fine, but every once in a while, a kid, me, is left in the church parking lot looking for lizards until one of my parents realizes neither of them grabbed me after church—no big deal. My mother worked at the church, so it was like a second home.

Most Sundays, though, as church ended and my parents picked me up, I knew it was time for NASCAR and Krystal’s at Memaw’s house. We hop in the car, my mom gets the Krystal’s, and then we head down walnut ave to get Memaw.

The house was small and had a distinct smell I still have never experienced anywhere else. Sometimes in the backyard, there were just random chickens that would hang out. There was the bush outside where we sometimes had to pick our own hickory/switch that would then be used in a spanking as a form of punishment for our stupidity. There was an old shed out back that I was afraid of for some reason.

Inside, the floors creaked with every step. It was hot in the summer unless you stood right in front of the window unit, and it was cold in the winter. One room was my favorite. It was full of Dale Earnhardt memorabilia and merchandise that I got to catch glimpses of occasionally.

And as I sat and ate Krystal’s, Memaw would turn on the old box-set television. She would ensure the antennas were set just right so the channel with the race came on real clear. And then I would watch with Memaw. At 5 and 6, you don’t fully understand what is going on in the race, but I remember loving the noise. The drone of the engine in the long back straightaways, or the streaking staccato of the cars going by the camera in a row. I also remember the excitement when Earnhardt would do something good. Memaw cheers, so I guess that means I cheer. Her favorite, and sometimes favorites, were mine. She would tell stories about the drivers, and I still remember a few of them. Sometimes I would have no idea what she was talking about, but I liked it because it was about racing.

It was not until much later in life that I learned to appreciate more of the race. But as a kid, having that favorite and having the excitement and speed of the race was more than enough. As a kid, I ended up knowing more divers and numbers from NASCAR better than I knew my own phone number or street address. I did eventually learn my number and address, but it took a while.

It was fun and exhilarating. It was Sunday afternoon racing before the night service at church. It will forever be attached to many other memories with people in a special place I love. Thank you, NASCAR, for being a great part of my favorite day of the week and providing a canvas of fun, connecting most of my Sundays in special ways.